


a rightness you can't name

by MaliciousVegetarian



Series: Witcher Pregnancy/Baby Prompts - March [10]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Character Study, F/M, Gender Dysphoria, Mpreg, POV Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Trans Female Character, Trans Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Trans Male Character, Trans Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Transmasc Pregnancy, gender thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-12
Updated: 2021-03-12
Packaged: 2021-03-18 20:20:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 587
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29988318
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaliciousVegetarian/pseuds/MaliciousVegetarian
Summary: As she and Geralt inch closer to the birth of their first child, Yennefer reflects on love and gender.Or, the trans Yenralt baby fic that is lowkey a love letter to my girlfriend.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Series: Witcher Pregnancy/Baby Prompts - March [10]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2189178
Comments: 5
Kudos: 20





	a rightness you can't name

**Author's Note:**

> Day 10: Gender
> 
> Hello! This contains a lot of thoughts about gender, and is narrated by a trans woman. I am transmasc, but I asked a transwoman to look this over before posting. That said, if anything bothers you, please let me know.

Yennefer had thought she’d be more jealous of Geralt.

After all, isn’t this what she’d wanted since girlhood? A body capable of creating life, of carrying something so small, almost inhuman in its perfection? She’s hoped and dreamed the day would come for her, and it hasn’t, and now here she is with a pregnant partner. Shouldn’t she be aching for what she doesn’t have?

And she is, in a way. She’s sad, she feels, again and again and again, betrayed by her body. Yennefer’s relationship with her shape, her form has never been as simple as hate. It’s a tangled thing, wrapped around itself so many times she can’t find the beginning any more. There’s love and pain twisted up together, melding into each other like felting yarn.

But she loves the way Geralt looks pregnant.

She loves the curve of his body, the way he doesn’t soften so much as firm up where the bump begins. She watches the shape of him, changing slightly every day, and she is glad he is willing to do this for them.

She’s hesitant to tell him that she loves how he looks like this, loves running her hands over him. She’s afraid this has somehow suddenly become too much to ask of him, that he hates the way his body is sliding out from under him. It must be scary, the loss of control, the giving yourself over to another being.

She asks him, one night after sex, if he hates this. If it’s a burden to bear instead of a joy. He shakes his head. “I thought I would look like a pregnant woman,” he says. “But I don’t. And I love looking like a pregnant man. It makes me feel - useful. Human.”

Geralt should be sterile. The mutagens should have taken this from him, and it was a surprise that they hadn’t. Yennefer watches the way her lover, her partner, her _co-parent_ smiles, and reaches up to trace her fingers over the curve of his lips. Gods, she wants to feel every inch of him, touch all his skin at once.

“What do you think they’ll be?” he asks one night, leaning against her in a too-small chair. They’ve been spending more and more of their time like this, pressed close together, longing for each other. The pregnancy has made them both skin hungry, starving for contact. “A girl? A boy? Neither, both, in between?” What he doesn’t say hangs in the air: _Like us?_

Yennefer runs a hand up his neck, pressing gently into the relaxed muscle. “Does it matter?”

“No,” Geralt says bluntly. “But I wonder.”

“I do too,” she says, stretching her toes out, feeling the lovely pull in her muscles. She is a thing of blood and bone, sinew and arteries. She had, at Aretuza, watched Tissaia cut open a dead man, and explain how they moved. It makes her think more highly of her body, to think of it as a thing made for movement.

Inside Geralt, the baby - their baby - is probably stretching its own legs, practicing for the big wide world that waits to greet them. She lays a hand over his stomach, whispers an “I love you.”

Yennefer’s story is a winding thing, pulled taut in some places and gone wide in others. But it has brought her here, and this body has given her this child. It doesn’t balance out, it’s far too powerful for scales. But it is _something_ , a rightness that she can’t quite name.


End file.
